Permission to Speak Freely
by eldritchhorrors
Summary: Bones has no truck with the holidays, so Jim introduces him to a new one, with one key feature: The Airing of the Grievances. Bones. Airing his grievances. Jim knew this Festivus would be EPIC. Kirk/McCoy


A/N: Written for the Space_wrapped Kik/McCoy advent community at LJ. I had three betas, because I'm special. This fic's existence owes more to Blcwriter, Sangueuk, and Janice_lester than me. They are awesome, with mad skills. Plus, I'd totally do them. Any mistakes are my own. If I was making money off this all my school bills would be paid and I'd be eating better than ramen and skater surprise.

Permission to Speak Freely

"You excited for the holidays?"

"Are there holidays? I hadn't noticed." Leonard looked down at his padd, entering in another quantity. Four vials of Peretriiae Secundus rash reducer. Hmm. Should be Five.

"We should make plans." Jim rushed forward and turned to stand in front of him- a living wall between Leonard and the meds being tallied. Jim's voice had become wheedling, and he was working Kirk smile number five, the crooked one that begged for forgiveness rather than permission.

Goddamnit. Just what he didn't need. Jim wanted to _manage_ him. "Go away, Jim. I'm busy." He went back to his padd.

"You're doing inventory."

"Inventory is important."

"Inventory should be _delegated_." The petulance of a five year old. Jim thought anything not involving his dick or showing how clever he was should be delegated, Leonard thought uncharitably. Couldn't help it. Didn't bother.

"I won't have my nurses do anything I'm unwilling to do."

Jim pulled off incredulity beautifully. "They do plenty you are unwilling to do." He held up his fingers as he counted down. "One: Have fun. Two: Relax. Three: Have sexual rela--"

"I said go away." Leonard sighed. Like he needed his lack of sex life thrown in his face by the guy that starred in most of his wank fantasies.

Very private wank fantasies.

Yes. Leonard knew he was a sad, sad little man. At night, when he needed to get off, he didn't much care. At least dream-Jim was a lot more quiet and didn't smell like the med bay they were currently occupying. Holo-novelas aside, antiseptic was _not_ sexy.

"Please?"

And dream-Jim was also a hell of a lot more tractable. "Grr."

That earned him a slap on the shoulder. "Just-- think about it, huh?"

***

The little shit was wearing a red hat with a pom-pom.

"No."

"Hey! I haven't even said anything about-"

"No. And I thought you were Jewish."

"Jew-_ish_. And you haven't heard what I want to--"

"Jim?" Oh sweet mother of God, kill him now. He was trying his damnedest not to piss in the kid's chili, trying like hell, but sometimes Jim made it So. Damn. Difficult.

"Yes?" Eager. Open. Hopeful.

Leonard hoped situational stupidity such as this wasn't catching.

He decided to take the offensive, because hey-- _doctor_. He rested an arm around Jim's shoulders, giving him a tight hug. _Not_ an everyday occurance. If it made Jim look a little shell-shocked and off-balance, it was weird, but also all to the good. "I keep you fit and healthy-- right?"

He'd perfected the sinister doctor voice in med school, and damn! He still had it.

Jim froze for an instant, eyes too big in his face before he started to squirm. "Uh, Bones? Should I be worried about where this is going?" Jim tried to pull away half-heartedly as Leonard's grip tightened.

"You always were the sharpest tack in the box."

"No time to chat! I've got to take care of some administration tasks before breaking warp." It was the most animated he'd ever seen Jim get over paperwork. Spock would be proud.

"Nope. CMO's prerogative. " Leonard pulled out a hypo while Jim valiantly attempted escape. "Vaccinations."

"Dammit, Bones."

"My line. And don't be a baby." He smiled for the first time in days as he jammed the spray into Jim's neck.

***

"Shit!" He jumped as Jim flung himself over the back of the sofa, his padd jumping out of his hands to suicide itself on the floor.

You'd think he'd be able to relax in his own damn room, minding his own damn business.

"Quit sneakin' around, or I'll put a bell on you!" He leaned over to retrieve his journal and returned to the intricacies of treating Trikellian optical parasites, pointedly ignoring Jim's stupid pretty face. __Again. At least until he was alone in his room. Again.

But Jim was a no-hint-taking motherfucker.

"Holidays, Bones." He looked down at Leonard with a smirk that looked off-- not surprising, since Leonard viewed it upside down.

"Didn't work when we were cadets, isn't gonna work now."

"I don't know what you mean."

But Jim obviously knew what Leonard meant, because his smile just got broader and the eyes got bigger and rounder. "We--"

"_You_."

"--are going to have so much fun." Jim's broad definition of fun sometimes made Leonard's hair curl, and Jim knew it.

Leonard gave up, placing his padd face down on his stomach and wrapping one arm over his eyes. "I'm not going to have fun, Jim. I'm going to work, and then I'm going to drink too much, and I'm going to be miserable."

"You underestimate me." Jim was maintaining the upbeat attitude, but Leonard could tell it was beginning to unravel.

"You underestimate a lot of shit. I'm in a bucket, strapped to a bomb, piloted by a madman who wants to string tinsel. Ho, fucking, ho." Leonard knocked the padd to the floor again, then turned over, away from Jim- onto his stomach, face still covered.

He could sense when Jim realized that nothing was funny anymore. He and Leonard had performed this song and dance at the academy every year, with no variations, but now something was off kilter- Len wasn't playing his role. This wasn't friendly banter. This was … sad-making.

"What is it?" Jim's voice was suddenly uncertain as he moved around to the other side and sat close. Leonard could feel his hand hovering, over spine, over shoulders, but it never made contact.

"I'm usually the death of the party anyway." Leonard's voice was muffled by his arm, but he knew Jim could make sense of it.

"No. Really. What's wrong?"

Leonard just grunted.

"It's okay."

Jim. That optimistic fucker.

"It is _not_ okay. Bad enough I'm not even close to Earth. She's taking Joanna on a two week trip off-planet. Lots of travel. We won't even be able to vid conference."

"It will _be _okay."

"And Joce. She knows -" He choked his own voice off.

"I know. I know. Me too."

"Christmases and Januaries fucking suck. Jo was the only thing that made that bearable, and fuck…" Leonard suddenly turned his head to glare at Jim, feeling pissed off and rumpled. "Promise me, Jim."

"What?"

"Don't play stupid. Promise me. No Christmas bullshit."

"No Christmas."

"No Hanukah. You can celebrate it all you want but if you offer me one marshmallow dreidl I'm not responsible for my actions."

"No Hanukah," Jim agreed.

"No Solstice, Eid, Kwanzaa, Saturnalia-"

"Mithra carols."

"You're making that up."

"Maybe," Jim hedged.

"None of it. I can't stomach it this year."

This time, Jim's hand lit upon his shoulder and gave a small squeeze, draining a lot of the fight. Some of the ornery hissed silently out of Leonard like Jim's hand was a relief valve.

Jim had on his most _sincere_ sincere-face-- not just the one he gave to Admirals and Spock. "No Christmas. Promise."

"You got your fingers crossed and you lose them."

"I wouldn't do that to you, Bones. I swear on my cock, nothing Christmas."

The rest of the fight ran out of Leonard's body, Jim's oath acting like a child's press on the base of a tension toy-- he felt like he could collapse on himself.

Jim's eyebrows crept toward his hairline."What? You believe me just like that?"

"Sure. If you'd sworn on your mother, I'd have known you were lying."__Not that Jim hated his mom- far from it. She just wasn't the sort to inspire fervent swearing-on.

Jim's cock on the other hand…

Not that Leonard knew from experience.

Dammit.

***

"Hey." Jim was standing just inside the door of Leonard's quarters, running his hands over his thighs in a rare nervous gesture.

"What's up?"

"I was wondering if you would come with me. Dinner in the mess."

"I told you--"

Jim's hands went up to stem the words he knew were coming. "It's nothing like that. I promise. It's only the twenty-third anyway. I just think you should get out of this room for a bit. No one's going to force you into anything, but you don't need to wallow in here." Jim smiled slyly as if he had an ace up his sleeve. Probably did.

Jackass.

"There's beer."

Leonard snorted. "Why would I want any of that canoe brew everyone--"

"I put some good stuff away, just for you."

"I know your idea of good stuff. Newcastle is not--"

"Duvel."

"Duvel._ Really_?"

"A case of it."

If there was a case, then Jim must have been planning this for _months_. Against his better judgment, Leonard was touched. "I think I love you."

And this was where Jim would usually laugh and say something flippant or raunchy- or just flip him off, but he wasn't playing his part this time either, and instead his mouth just turned down a little at the corners, still looking a bit too serious. A bit too antsy.

"Come to dinner." Jim nodded towards the door; coaxing, not telling. "I keep my promises, Bones."

"I know."

"Then c'monnnnnn."

Well, Leonard _was_ tired of just his own company, and he didn't want to be that pussy who was too afraid of dinner to venture out of his cabin. Plus, Jim seemed awfully invested in cheering him up. He couldn't disappoint the kid, not when the kid had a hard enough time carving out a happy holiday for himself.

"Okay. Just lemme get dressed."

"You look fine."

"I'm in my civvies." The Bulldogs t-shirt was ratty and had been laundered within an inch of its life, and the jeans he was wearing were frayed at the hem and considering abandoning all hope of coverage at the knees.

"Just put on your shoes. You're drinking beer, not performing a neural graft."

"Professionalism."

"Already moot. Half the ship saw you faceplant in the quad then start making out with Yasmine Gupta second year."

"They were all too drunk to remember that."

"There might have been a holo," Jim said, eyes shifting to the side before he started to hum.

Leonard sighed. "Fine, shoes. But for the record, I kind of hate you right now."

Jim smiled for the first time since entering the room. Maybe for the first time in a few days. Maybe because Leonard had been pissing and moaning a little too much, if he was bringing even Jim down. "See, now _that's_ the Bones I know."

***

"What the deuce?" Leonard surveyed the mess hall with growing dismay.

"No Christmas stuff, see?"

And there wasn't. Sure, there was an inordinate number of crew in the mess, and they all looked like they were having a good time, but that's where the resemblance ended. There was cheap beer frothing up, yellow and disgusting in polycarbonate pint glasses. Plates of food that looked suspiciously like spam. Jello. Beernuts. Stuffed jalapenos and potato skins. The air tasted like popcorn and canned smeet.

Decorations were lacking. In fact, the only additions he could see were a few metal poles and a small dais with a lectern placed at the end of the room.

And the music…

"What the hell is that?"

"Huh? Oh. It's traditional."

"Traditional what?"

"Festivus music."

"Festivus."

"Yeah."

"_We're Not Gonna Take It_ is traditional anything?"

"Fuck _yeah_."

Leonard grabbed Jim by the arm and dragged him into the corner. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

Jim smiled and nodded at a passing ensign as he responded to Leonard. "Celebrating. Getting you to celebrate something other than your own misery."

"You fucking promised!" He was trying to keep his voice down, but he must have been failing because the occupants of a few nearby tables glanced over. It also made Jim turn toward him completely.

"And I'm keeping my promise. This isn't a holiday. It's an anti-holiday."

"Explain, now."

"Festivus. Did you grow up in a Nepalese yurt?"

"Pretend I did."

"The holiday for the rest of us. All the Christmas Dissidents and Menorah Malcontents say a big fuck you to the corporate holiday complex and, in the words of the great prophet, 'party like it's 2399."

"You're cracked."

"Eh. Me and half the crew. You'll like it. Anyone says," Jim looked around, lowering his voice to a whisper, "anyone says Merry Christmas, and they're forced into a skant uniform and put in time out."

"Jim--"

"Beer is the traditional drink. Spam is the traditional food, and there is only one decoration."

Leonard eyed the bare metal poles with a skeptical eye.

"They remind me of you."

"What?"

Jim seemed to soften his edges for a moment. "Aluminum. Chosen for its high strength to weight ratio."

Leonard didn't know what to say to that, but Jim just shook his head, then pointed at the lectern. "Later on, there's Feats of Strength. I call out a crew member and they have to wrestle me. If they lose, they are shamed for all time. But that's later in the night. After the food and ritual beer pong, we have the airing of the grievances." The last bit was heavy with significance.

"Really." There was dawning interest, despite his worst intentions.

"I thought you might be interested."

"Grievances?"

"Any of the ones you haven't voiced within the last year, directed at any persons on this ship." Jim was practically bouncing up and down as the possibilities became self-evident.

"Jim." Leonard felt something profound welling in his throat as his eyes prickled with moisture.

To his credit, Jim's forehead creased in alarm and he bent close, trying to figure out what was wrong.

Stupid bastard.

Stupid, amazing, wonderful bastard.

"Jim." Leonard turned into him, hand gripping Jim's arm in a vise, eyebrows reaching his hairline. "Have my babies."

Captain Kirk's laughter was the first indication anyone had that something had gone viciously wrong.

***

The food had been dutifully attended to, with Ensign Rand winning the Spam-carving competition for her 'sensitive and aesthetically balanced' sculpture of Zefram Cochrane riding a rocket in a pair of assless chaps. Much beer had been consumed, and everyone was hyped about the Ceremonial ass-reaming to come. Leonard was well on his way towards blitzed, and looking forward to the festivities as well.

The grievances passed as one by one everyone got up to make themselves heard. Some were shy and mumbled a few annoyances about coworkers while keeping them anonymous, but the greatest portion were directed at supervisors who took the good-natured ribbing about shift assignments and favoritism with grace, though there was the occasional grumble.

There were a few memorable occasions.

From Jiminez. "Reilly. If you act like an ass, don't be surprised if people ride you."

From Hannity. "Gary. I'm getting mixed signals. Do you want me to accept you as you are, or do you want me to like you?"

But after twenty minutes one thing became obvious.

Though Kirk was in for his fair share, everyone, from janitor to command staff, steered a wide berth around one Dr. Leonard Horatio McCoy.

It did not bode well.

For them.

Turbulent unease resonated through the hall as he started to rub his hands together in what could arguably be called glee. It was creepy as hell, he knew it, but no one wanted to offend the captain by ditching the festivities before the Feats of Strength.

And as Leonard's turn approached, like death on a pale horse, things became more stilted, the laughter higher and more fraught with panic.

It was, to use a Jim Kirk term, fucking awesome.

"Bones. You're up."

Now Leonard would like to think that he approached the podium with grace, and dignity, and aplomb but he was never that big of a fan of lying to himself. He leaped onto the platform, and the room went tomb silent.

Yes. Totally. Fucking. Awesome.

He leaned over the podium, two-fisting it, and smiled, surveying his kingdom.

His, all fucking his.

He was no benevolent dictator.

"Well, bless your little hearts."

Jim stifled a laugh, but was quieted with a glare.

"Permission to speak freely captain?"

Jim inclined his head. "Speak away."

"Well, seems I got all of you by the metaphorical balls. Don't think I don't know what's going on here. Not only did Jim put y'all up to this, but you're all shit scared to say anything to me because I'm the one who's responsible for your continued health."

He paused for a moment, surveying the room from one end to the other, soaking up every nervous twitch, every sweaty rivulet of trepidation.

"Excellent."

There was a whimper.

"What was that?" He cupped a hand to his ear, crooking his head to the side. "Was that the sound of …victory?"

"Bones." It wasn't so much Jim giving him a warning. No one was _that_ naïve. He was just saying that Leonard should get on with it. Like it was too rude for him to play with his prey.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm taking my sweet time about this. I'll never get this chance again."

"Always next year."

"Yeah, but this is my first time. There's the nostalgia factor. Now shut up and let me talk." Bones tilted his head to the side. "Now…where to begin?"

A few people ducked, or tried to tap into some sort of latent chameleon gene, but it was generally acknowledged that there would be no escape. It was a hall-wide Kobayashi Maru_**, **_except instead of no-win, it was an all-Leonard scenario.__

"Maybe just some general observations? Very well, then." He stood up straighter than the graduation line at a Vulcan finishing school, stood__like a general addressing his troops.

"Never seen so many stupid-smart people in one place. Y'all have the life expectancy of a gnat because of your stunted survival instincts, and I'm the one that deals with the fallout of your idiotic shenanigans. I think the majority of Federation planets are trying to pull a Harrison Bergeron, except instead of handicapping their best and brightest, they're giving 'em god complexes, shooting 'em into the ether, and placing bets."

There was slight relief that irised through the crowd. This speech could have been titled _Dr. McCoy: Variations on a Theme, Part Twenty. _

"Fucking. You do a lot of it. You do so much of it I can hardly keep up with it. I discover more new venereal diseases. I always wanted to have a disease named after me, but y'all had to ruin it. I now have my pick between the one that eats the foreskin, the one that turns the labia into swiss cheese, and the one that makes you pee purple-nurple." Leonard was pleased when a few sat their drinks down in disgust.

"The engineers have their heads so far up their asses I'm surprised they don't shit when they mean to eat. Listen-- if it vents, steams, whistles, pings, hisses, fizzes, crackles, looks or smells wrong, don't fucking pick it up with your bare hands. I see you lot more than any other group on this ship combined. Including security."

There was a snicker in back, and Leonard zeroed in on the culprit.

"Oh, no you don't, Cupcake."

"Hey!"

"Gung-ho macho orangutans. No one with your injury and spontaneous dismemberment stats can afford to laugh. I can't always grow it back. As a group, you think you would have all gotten together and decided that red shirts are a Bad Idea. A universally aggressive color that screams _attack me__!__ attack me__!_ Someone up the food chain hates and fears you. Camouflage, guys. Try it. Love it. Buy it a nice dinner and sleep with it. It ain't rocket science."

Later- much, _much_ later- after the puking and the recriminations and the hung-over coffee klatches, everyone would agree that this was the moment of the Big Mistake.

Chekov, inebriated and flushed pink, tittered.

Leonard just shook his head. "Chekov, Chekov, Chekov."

"Yes?" He looked around, blinking like a baby bird, though no one was quite sure whether it was for help or an escape route.

"Chekov- I'll admit, I've checked you for every mind-altering upper in the database, and the only conclusion I can come to is that this is your real personality." Leonard frowned at the ensign. "Kid. Find somebody. Get laid. Have 'em break your heart. Something! Because this chipper shit is driving me up a wall."

"Wassat …wazzat," Chekov hiccupped. "Supposed to be…"

Leonard gesticulated towards him, as if to say 'exhibit A.'

"See? Sulu- quit waffling and ask him out already. Just- treat him like shit for a few weeks to take the shiny off the attitude, and then I might not want to projectile vomit every time I see you both on the bridge. Like watching puppies dry humping, I swear."

Sulu eyes widened in the punch-drunk, haunted way that would follow him on ship intranet throughout his entire career, but Chekov just blinked at him myopically.

Leonard looked around for more prey. He started from the ground up, evidently coming to the conclusion that the senior crew was fair game.

"Scotty- Christ, man. I can't understand a thing that comes out of your mouth, and considering what I see go into it, I'm surprised you aren't suffering from liver failure and heart disease. Eat a salad, for fuck's sake, because I don't want to have to deal with it. And stop flirting with Chapel. She's not-so-secretly gaga over the walking computer." He nodded at the Scot, finished.

Scotty, to his credit, managed to gape and tip a beer in his general direction. "Noted."

"Speaking of which. Christine, what the _hell _are you thinking? You leave a distant mess of a fiancée. I get it. Really. But you want to replace him with the emotional security of a Vulcan? Cognitive dissonance. I'm beginning to think you're a self-hating lesbian."

He rallied, despite Chapel, Uhura and Rand's glares. "Yeah, it might sound sexist, but it also sounds spot the fuck on, so suck it up. I can't help it if you _want_ to be a stereotype. You'll thank me later."

Figuring he had alienated his head nurse enough, he switched to another colleague, M'benga. "Geoff, I know you don't want to be CMO, so quit looking so damn sheepish whenever someone gives you a compliment in front of me. I wouldn't give a rat's ass even if you did want to be CMO. And take over Spock's care, for God's sake. Protocol and first officer bullshit aside, you're the Vulcan expert. You deal with his plumbing. I think I lost a retractor in that mess the last time I was in there."

When he mentioned Spock's name, the front row sat up and gave him their full attention, as if to agree that this should be good. Damn good.

"Spock… I honestly like you, but that might mean diddly because grandma always said I had no taste, and y'all never did meet my ex-wife. You're just fine with regulations and logistics and stuff, but your interpersonal communications skills are a few pallets short of a load. Loosen up. Yeah, your men would follow you anywhere, but right now? Probably only out of morbid curiosity."

Spock merely raised a brow.

"And you have stupid hair. Bowl cuts, man. We all got at least one so that our parents would be able to shame us at a later date, but no one said you had to keep it." Leonard nodded at Spock, who responded with a slight twitch of a vein at his temple. "I could keep at this all day, so I'll just segue into your girlfriend."

Leonard smiled, and nodded respectfully. "Dominant Mistress Uhura. You scare my testicles into my body cavity. Now, there may not be any correlation between that, and, say, the attractiveness of retractable penii, but the case could be made." There were a few murmurs of discontent.

He put his hands in the air, as if preparing to fend off a mob.

"Just throwing it out there."

He nodded at Jim, who nodded back.

"And then there's me."

Jim laughed, but everyone else practically levitated in surprise.

"What? You think I'll exempt myself? Have you met me? I've got a mouth like hammered shit on a griddle. I drink like a Vermerite gullfish. I scowl too much, I bitch too much. I make gross generalizations about people's parentage, brain capacity and fitness to live. I'm an invisible parent, a crappy friend that can spin-doctor concern into an elaborate tapestry of conspiracy. I'm an emotional midget that wouldn't know political correctness if it jumped up and bit him on the scrotum, which would be an improvement on my current level of sex-life, which would be _none_, for those of you in the betting pool, and don't think I don't know about that. I've only had a passing acquaintance with manners since the divorce. And…"

He paused, because he was also a dramatic asshat, though he blamed that one on Jim.

"I'm also a sadist deriving an extraordinary amount of pleasure from this."

There were nods of agreement from all quarters.

"To recap this grievance sharing experience: You're all a bunch of assholes. Big, gaping, farty assholes."

Leonard's smile widened even further, and the tension ratcheted up a notch, everything and everyone silent and deadly and fierce in the quiet. The approach of a coup de grace.

"And…" He took in everyone's face, from the amusement of those who had gotten off easy, to the deep scowls or stoic facades of the ones who had come under heavier fire.

"…the best crew a man could choose to serve with."

He'd never personally seen a jaw actually drop, but hey. This was the _Enterprise_, and the crew never half-assed it. Jaws fucking dropped across the board.

"I've never seen so much sheer bravery concentrated into one small space. Never such self-sacrifice, or honor. I've fought with you, I've fought to keep you alive, I've grieved with you. I used to think that nobility was outdated, only used to sell magazines, but I see it here, every day, within you all. Starfleet would prefer to measure us by the intellect of this crew, by percentages and performance ratings and a bunch of other statistical shit that's a slap to our individuality. But Starfleet can't quantify what makes the _Enterprise_ the greatest ship in the galaxy. There's no formula to plug numbers into, no equation to be solved." His smile now felt smaller, rare and real. There was genuine shock on some people's faces, and he guessed maybe Jim was probably right, the sonofabitch. He should probably smile more—it freaked the shit out of people.

"I feel like I've looked into your hearts, to the soul inside, and fuck. I'm in fucking awe. That I get to be here with you. That I get to make a difference with you. I get to help you perform to the best of your abilities. We're making history on this mission, and I never thought I'd get to be a part of something so much larger than ourselves. I'm proud to serve beside you."

His mouth formed the moue of distaste that it most frequently took. "Don't get me wrong. I'm still convinced I'm going to die horribly in this rattletrap screaming my fool head off, but at least it'll happen in good company. The best company." His nod of approbation was all encompassing.

"Though if any of you so much as mention this maudlin shit beyond tonight, your screamin' demise might be sooner than you think. So, cheers." He raised his cup then knocked back the last of his beer.

There was a roar of approval as everyone got to their feet, clapping and hollering enough to make Leonard blush. He hid his face in his hands, sneaking a look at Jim, who was grinning at him unrepentantly, clapping the loudest.

And he'd never, ever live it down. His reputation was toast.

He was about to flee when one voice bravely clamored above the others.

"Doctor!"

"What?"

"Doctor!" Chekov's voice rose higher, winning the fight as people quieted down to listen.

"Festivus is a good Russian holiday. Wery traditional."

"What about it?"

"There is rule. Rules must be followed."

"And what's that?"

"What about the keptin?"

"Jim? What about him?"

"He is head of house. You did not," Chekov flailed his arm around, waving at the dais. "You did not air your grievances about him. Wery strange."

Leonard looked up, eyes wide as other people joined the chorus.

"He's right, Leonard."

Shit. Uhura must still be miffed that he brought up Spock's penis-- calling him Leonard in front of all of these people like that on top of everything else.__

"Yeah, Doc. The captain!"

"The captain."

Jim wasn't helping a bit. Just smiled his smarmy grin, leaning back on two chair legs, making "hit me" motions with his hands, like he could take whatever it was Leonard dished out, whatever sarcastic abuse Leonard decided to heap on the bastard this time. He smiled like he knew it was going to be epic, that same stupid smile he wore at all the dumb parties with all of the crew when he had to play captain and make sure the kids didn't push one another out of the airlocks.

But Leonard.

Leonard…

He stared at Jim, until Jim got that this was yet another thing that was out of the bounds of their familiar script. Smile faded. Shields started to go up-- against Leonard.__

"I…"

Leonard tried again. "I…" He tried to break eye contact and turn away from that increasingly stormy blue-- sucking him in.

Fuck.

"I don't have any grievances to air." He swallowed. "Not one."

He took one step.

Two.

Then he was gone.

***

Jim brought the front legs of his chair to rest on the floor, face enigmatic as the noise picked up around him once more.

"Keptin?"

He stood up, looking around as if seeing the mess for the first time, as if everyone were a stranger.

"Keptin?"

"Huh?'

"Now we wrestle?"

"Uh."

"Feats of Strength, yes? You pick a crew member, and we wrestle."

A smile started to spread over Jim's face, slowly at first, then picking up momentum. "Yes. Yes, we do."

"Yes! And who is the lucky crew member?" Chekov puffed out his chest.

But Jim was already walking to the door.

"Don't worry about it Chekov. It's already taken care of."

***

Jim was leaning against the wall when the door to Leonard's quarters__opened, arms crossed, looking peeved. "I love you too, Jackass." The capital J was apparent. He'd known Jim long enough to know when he was just a lowercase jackass instead. This wasn't one of those times.

Leonard__just rubbed his eyes. "Jim. Go away."

"No. I love you."

"You always were kind of fucked up. I can't deal with this right now."

"You aren't dealing with anything. You love me, I love you. Tab A goes into Slot B, happily ever after ensues."

Leonard looked alarmed, peering around frantically before dragging Jim inside. "Where the hell did you hear that?"

"My mom. _When a man loves another consenting humanoid very much, he_-"

"No. That I- uh. You know." Great. Now he sounded aphasic.

"From you."

"I never-"

"Bones. Give it up. You said you had _No Grievances_."

"And?"

"You might as well have written me a love letter."

"I don't care what you therk-"

Jim shut him up with an application of tongue to tonsil before pulling away with a loud, wet smack. "I love you, you moron. That's _my_ grievance. Get it through your thick, stupidly hot skull. L. O. V. E. You."

"Shut up. Someone might get the idea that you mean it." But Leonard couldn't help the little thrill that went down his spine along with Jim's fingers, or the happiness that bled across his face until he felt like his smile was going to climb into his ears. If he sounded like a sap-- the way Jim smelled this close, like clean sweat and cinnamon cookies-- had _nothing_ to do with it.

"Good." Jim's voice was low now, husky, and had lost some of the feral vibration it had when he first arrived. He still seemed a bit tentative, though; a bit nervous as he wetted his lips with his tongue. Not that Leonard was interested in _that,_ either.

"Someone might think you go to that kind of trouble all of the time."

"They shouldn't."

"Someone might think you want to have dirty, rough, extremely loud sex against the wall."

"They …might?"

"C'mon Jim." Len pulled him deeper into the room. "You gave me a great gift. I can at least try to top it."

"Well. We _are_ supposed to perform Feats of Strength."

Leonard slid his hands under Jim's shirt. "Shamed if I lose, huh?"

"For all time." Jim grinned, unrepentantly.

"Guess I really will have to top it, then."

And he did.

Frequently, loudly, and well.

The end.

(And, um. I would like a picture of the Zefram Cochrane Spam carving, pretty please, someone with artistic talent?)


End file.
